


you had a real nice face,

by Lunala



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Breakup, M/M, Second Person, car seat headrest, death mention (but not real death)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 05:43:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10210832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunala/pseuds/Lunala
Summary: an ambiguously written story about heartbreak, the water, and potential death.-or-a small fic based off of beach life-in-death by car seat headrest





	

**Author's Note:**

> so, I haven't comepleted a fic in basically two years.  
> yeah, hi.  
> pls listen to this song btw!! they're an amazing band n the whole album of twin fantasy is fucking amazing.  
> (also no beta used so sorry if it sucks!! lmao I'm fuckin rusty n English isn't even my first language)

It's five in the morning. The sun is coming up soon, a lone bird is chirping outside of your window. 

He's gone. 

Ten hours ago, you yelled at him for something small and irrelevant, something that you didn't think would ever end whatever you to were, but somehow, it did, and you can't even fathom why. 

Nine hours ago, he had started to yell back, making you realize that this was real, you had started something sick, and horrible, and real. It was too late to stop what was now a full-on fight, your mind screaming no almost as loud as you two were yelling at each other.

You both just, keep on yelling, and it's breaking your heart, but he doesn't seem affected by it. 

You think you might be crying now. 

Eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. 

He left five hours ago, which led you to spend the following hours in a flurried panic, walking through the halls, crying, shaking, being the mess you usually are after big moments like these in your life. You hope he'll come back eventually, and that he'll kiss you and you'll hug him, and everything will end up okay, and tomorrow it'll all be back to normal. (You doubt it, though, because you know him better than you think, and he's too stubborn to even imagine coming back home to you).

(Maybe you were never home to him).

So, here you are. Five in the morning, laying in bed, trembling like the aftermath of an earthquake, and you can't stop thinking about what's going to happen next. 

You hope it doesn't get any harder than it already is. 

-

It's getting harder. 

You find yourself on a train going to Harper's Ferry at six in the morning (eleven hours). You think of him the entire time, your hood pulled up to avoid the cold rain. The stop signs, decreasing ten miles every few meters, remind you of him, but you don't even know why, and you can't help but sob, alone, on that melancholy train. 

The ferry isn't going anywhere (it's six in the morning) and you stare at your reflection in the water. You don't recognize the man you see. You throw rocks at his face in the river, and you watch him ripple away into nothing, just to return. 

You spend two hours there (thirteen) and hope that you've given him enough time to come back. 

Evidently, it's not, because when you finally come home (fourteen hours) everything is the same as you left it. You honestly don't know whether to cry or laugh. You check your phone just in case, but all you have is a reminder to pay your phone bill. 

You don't know what to do to comfort yourself. 

After sitting, staring numbly at the wall, and doing nothing for an hour, you decide to pack up your things and go somewhere, anywhere, as long as it's far from your tiny apartment that suddenly feels too big. 

-  
You end up spending a week (seven days, fifteen hours) in a motel room that's somehow smaller than your actual room, and all you do is think about him. You know that you two might not have been dating, hell, it had only been around a year since you two had really first met, and maybe that's why he had no problem leaving, but it's the closest to "in love" you'd ever been. 

When you come back home (seven days, nineteen hours) he still hasn't come back. 

-

You leave again, still not being able to stand the empty empty empty feeling that your flat is now submerged in, instead spending the week (fifteen days, twenty hours) at a high school friends house. He kicks you out for being "way too fucking emo, you fag" (to which you think, how dare he call me that, because the only time close to ever coming out to him was on Skype, when you were pretending to be almost black out drunk, and all he did was laugh and call you hilarious) and you're sent back home. 

He still hasn't returned. 

Everything is the same. 

-

When you were younger, you used to dream of becoming famous. It never happened, and now you're stuck halfway through a degree in a university that wasn't even your third choice, and you haven't been near there in almost three weeks (eighteen days, twenty two hours) because it's where you met him. 

Right now, you feel almost completely soulless, incapable of being human, incapable of being inhuman, you are living uncontrollably, recklessly, never eating, never sleeping, all you do is sit and think. 

You think about how, once, in high school, when you were still denying your sexuality and pretending to be straight, you dated some girl who had later attempted to break your heart. A friend of yours told you that it's not sadness that hurts you, it's the brains reaction against it, to which you responded, "what episode of Dr. Phil is that from, twat" and forgot about until today (eighteen days, twenty two hours) and this time you think, fuck love, fuck pain, fuck heartbreak.

-

By now it's been too long to keep count of how long it's been, and when you realize that, you almost start to cry again. Instead, you open the windows. 

(You hope you're not going insane.)

-

You start to have vivid nightmares, and you can't even tell yourself what they mean. 

You dream that he's being ruthlessly murdered by a strange man, and you're yelling stop, stop, stopstopstop, but he won't stop, he keeps stabbing him right in his heart, and then you realize that's it's you, you're holding the knife, and you're filled with immense dread and ohmygod I'm killing the only love I've ever had and-

You wake up. 

He's not dead. 

-

You have another dream, and it's almost like a memory. 

You're laying next to him, both of you sweaty and almost naked, and just as he's turning off the lights, you say something that he definitely wasn't expecting. 

He stares at you. 

All of a sudden, you're killing him again, and all you're saying is "I love you I love you I love you"

You wake up.

He's only dead in your dreams. 

-

You get a reminder on your phone a week after you've had that dream. It reads 1 year :) and you're suddenly reminded of the fact that today would've been a year since that first kiss you shared; not-completely-sober and slightly aggressive, but enough to make your heart stutter inside of your chest. After that kiss, he had just kind of stuck with you, evidently even now, because that fucking reminder makes you feel sick. 

A few hours later, you delete his number from your phone, and you don't feel anything. 

-

The bastard texts you two weeks later. You're finally at school, minding your own business, and he texts you. 

Hey, can I get my book back. 

You're so shaken over the fact that he's texted you (he still has your number??) that even your profesor notices how off you suddenly are, briefly asking you if you are or aren't okay. You don't really know how to to respond to that, but you nod blankly at him regardless. 

When you get out of class you stare at the text for a good five minutes straight, not knowing what to respond (should you even respond?) 

You realize that it's better to get it over with now than to sit and wait, most likely annoying him because of the fact that he'll have known you've seen it, so you text him back. 

Well, you text him back an hour later, because fuck him. 

-

Come to think of it, responding was a horrible idea, because for the first time in almost two months, he's back in your flat, and, what the fuck, he just keeps looking at you. 

"Um, so where's that Robert Frost book? I really want it back, you know I can't go a week without reading mending Wall."

You've just been avoiding looking at him this whole time, but at least you can gesture to where it is. It's fine. 

He walks over and the way he looks reminds you of the way he looked the first time he slept over, with his soft eyes and timid smiles, smelling like your shampoo and laundry detergent, and you thought, I'm never letting go of this boy in my life.

Clearly, that hasn't worked out too well. 

He grabs it, offers a small smile, and just mumbles a thank you before heading out of your flat. 

And, for some reason, you stop him. 

"I just," what the fuck are you doing "I wanted to say I'm sorry. We both kind of fucked up and it's, like, fine now, but I'm still sorry."

You don't know why you just did that, you weren't even the one who did anything wrong, but all of a sudden he's just, in your space, and he looks at you so, so sadly, and kisses you. 

You just stand there. 

-

He leaves almost immediately after whatever the fuck that was, and you don't know how to feel. 

-

You don't hear from him until a week later, and even then it's just a small text. 

Call me?

You don't. 

-

The next day he basically stalks you down at school, chasing you through the courtyard. You aren't even trying to run from him anymore (literally, metaphorically, whatever the fuck) and he catches you eventually. 

"Look," he groans, panting "I'm sorry too, okay? I know you like, maybe actually loved me or something, but I'm sorry we started this whole mess. I haven't stopped thinking about you, and I'm just, I'm so fucking sorry."

You look at him. 

You walk away. 

-

He keeps trying to get to you, and you don't know what his true motive is, because he's not the type of person to do something if he's not getting anything in return. Maybe he wants to get back together, maybe he just wants someone to spread his blog or some shit around. 

Either way, he calls you numerous times after that one-sided apology. 

After around ten calls, you finally respond. 

"Oh my god, finally, you piece of shit, I need to talk to you."

You just hum. 

"Well, I guess you're not going to respond but whatever, I just need to talk."

And talk he does. 

He doesn't fucking shut up for almost ten minutes, and you're getting pretty tired of him talking around you in circles, repeating almost the same thing over and over again. 

"So, will you maybe consider taking me back? Again, I'm really sorry, I really do have feelings for you."

You stay silent for a good ten seconds (one for every minute he bullshitted lies into your ears, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, 

ten.)

"You do realize that I know you're lying. I know for a fact you don't miss me, so just leave. You're just fucking horny again, or some other bullshit excuse, so don't even try. You know what? Go find that fucking teenage satanist or whatever the fuck you've been fantasizing about lately, and fuck off. Delete my number, forget about me, and go die in a motherfucking ditch."

You breathe for a second, and hear him stutter. 

You hang up. 

This time, you block him. 

-

It's four in the afternoon. If you close your eyes and listen, you can faintly hear a train running on its rusty tracks near the park you're sitting in, there's a magpie sitting in a tree above you, and the boy you've been pretending to be in love with just hung up on you. 

Fate's a funny thing.

**Author's Note:**

> pls tell me who u think was who in the fic!! was Phil being broken up with, was Dan being broken up with? who knows tbh


End file.
